


Agents

by Jaffre



Category: Gunpoint (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Beating, Blood, Broken Bones, Emetophobia, Fluff, Gessler: Come and fucking get me, M/M, Scratching, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaffre/pseuds/Jaffre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conway and Hightower's relationship post-game, and how fucked up they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapters are rated individually, from Teen to Explicit.  
> You can check the notes at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> I started writing this on a whim, just because that seven story body slam looked real cool, and got carried away. I'm not sure how many parts there will be yet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you get tackled through a window and ask yourself what has your life become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T.
> 
> Additional Tags: Gessler: Come and fucking get me, Seven Story Body Slam, Broken Bones
> 
> Words: 316

Shattered glass.

My Dropshot trenchcoat takes most of the damage. The agent Hightower takes the remaining.

We're both in for a seven story fall.

My heart is pumping my fear away. I can feel the blood rushing to my temples. I clench my fists, tighten my grip on the agent's collar. The bastard's grinning. Figures he got me. He doesn't.

Our coats are flapping in the wind. I try to knock him out but the gravity doesn't cooperate. I manage to keep myself away from his hits but I still have no idea why he's reaching for my hat. He's gonna pay for that.

The slam on the ground takes my breath away. The agent doesn't give me the time to recover. Soon I feel his knuckles into my cheek bones. I try to ignore the pain but it stings like sharp glass into my skin. None of my blows reach his face.

My vision darkens as he punches my consciousness away.

No.

I can't let that happen.

I clench my fists one more time, gathering my strengths. My whole body spasms in the painful effort. Throwing myself forward, I move my legs to activate the Bullfrog trousers. Not sure it's gonna work. I breath out before releasing the jump, and I feel like my muscles are burning, vibrating under the action of the hypertrousers. I growl. It doesn't matter. More important: we're now both into the air once again, but I won't let him take me down this time. I'm gonna send him six feet under.

At the highest point, I activate the Bullfrog, releasing it immediately. The force projects us apart. I let myself float up, and fall down, landing on his back. He might have broken some bones.

"Owh."

I quickly get back on my feet, staggering for a few steps, ankles burning.

It's not over yet.

I have to bring down Gessler.


	2. East Point Nicest Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Conway tries to enjoy a drink, but Hightower's here to talk business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T.
> 
> Words: 386
> 
> Big thanks to TunefulCandour for proofreading my old shit. You're amazing and I learn so much from you.

"Look, I was just doing my job."

I don't even look at him. His ice eyes make me shiver in unease.

"Me too." The voice is oddly husky. Doesn't match his pretty face. "Guess what, you've been a serious pain in the ass those past few weeks."  
"Whatever."

I take another sip. I can see him clench his fist in the corner of my eye. That is not a good sign.

"I don't like people messing with my clients."  
"Who again?"  
"Gessler. Frando. Wvald."  
"Oh."

His silence gives me the time to enjoy the saxophone in the background. That's what I like the most about this place. Drinks are as dull as everywhere, but the music is delightful.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"  
"Is that a trick question?"

He slams on the counter, glasses clinking. The barman gives him a mean look but he doesn't pay attention to it. He's focusing on giving _me_ a mean look, his cold eyes piercing trough my skull.

"Stay out of my business."  
"You're the one following me around."

In a matter of seconds I'm straight on my feet before Hightower can grab me and make a mess. I won't let him ruin the nicest club of East Point.

"Let's take this outside, shall we?"

I don't even have the time to empty my glass as he drags me outo into the hazy streets. I hadn't noticed until now that he is stronger than he looks. With this in mind it's no wonder that when he throws me away I lose balance and end up at his feet -which gives me the pleasure of inspecting his superb pair of hypertrousers. Wonder which brand it is. Maybe Klipspringer.

"You're pathetic."  
"I find myself rather fancy."

A kick pins me to the ground. The sharp pain in my chest remind me that I shouldn't fuck with him -but it's so funny. Coughing, I stare up, meeting his icy glare.

"I could kill you right now."  
"But...?" The pressure on my chest suddenly gets heavier.  
"I won't get a thing from it."  
"Glad to be a potential target for you."  
"It was my last warning."

In no time he releases me and stealthily jumps away. I watch him disappear on the roofs. He's sure got some sweet moves.

I'm so jealous.


	3. Won't end up in an obituary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hightower gives Conway some piece of advice. With his fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> Additional Tags: Beating, Blood, Broken Bones
> 
> Words: 600
> 
> Big thanks to TunefulCandour for proofreading my old shit. I don't know what I would be doing without you.  
> (probably writting bad English)

Swift and strong. Didn't really find that problematic until he got me under his firm grip. Arm bent in my back, I try not to squeak at the pain. I'm not sure I succeeded, which must look ridiculous. I still have a reputation to maintain.

"Is that a way to say hello?"

I can't see his face but I'm sure he must look all serious like he always is. I wonder if he ever smiles.

"Hello Conway." Ow ow ow, the pain. He's not joking. "Remember what I said the other day?"  
"That I was pathetic?"  
"Stay out of my business."  
"Wh... What did I do this time?" I barked, sounding more pleading than I intended.  
"Stole some intel, and now, thanks to that, my client is dead."  
"Should I feel sorry for you?"

The pain hits bullseye when he twists my wrist. If I carry on like that he's going to break it. Coming to think of it, I'm actually pretty lucky he hasn't done it already.

"I'm here to take my money back."  
"What? What money? I don't own you a th—"  
"The money you kept me from earning."  
"Ah," I slowly breath out. "Too bad I already spent all my bucks."

He doesn't answer.

"I wasn't going to give you anything anyway."

I let out a scream at the snap. That was my little finger. I grin my teeth to ease the pain but I'm merely fooling myself.

"That's all you've got?" I bite my tongue. Why do I keep provoking him?

A kick on my leg makes me fall on my knees. He is still holding my wrist when he puts his foot on my back. My whole body is shaking.

"Ok! Ok! Take anything you want!"  
"You don't have much to be taken."  
"Why don't you just kill me then?"  
"I already told you. I won't benefit from your death. However—"

A hard push bursts a fire in my back.

"I can incapacitate you."

My own scream pierces through my ears. The fucker just dislocated my shoulder. I have to react before he breaks all the bones in my body. I grab my shoulder with my other hand and realise he released my wrist. I take the chance! I quickly turn around, backing up against the wall, facing him. His expressionless face sends a shiver down my spine. I try not to look at him directly in the eyes and sprint out of here, thinking of changing my name and renting a new flat. If only he wasn't as fast as he is. As I dive towards the broken window, I snag— his hand has caught my sleeve. I try to jump out of his grip with a small impulse of my hypertrouser, but I trip on the shards of glass. Sliding along the whole way, pieces ripping through my shirt and skin, I leave a trail of blood. That's gonna be a pain to clean up. More worries are to come, as I can now witness how high four stories really is. Breathtaking. Or maybe it's because he smashed my back with his knee. Who knows. Hand grabs my face. Tilts my head backwards. Everything gets dizzy. I don't really know what happens next, but it hurts.

When I wake up, some wind is blowing in my hair. Bitter taste mixed with blood in my mouth. My whole body aching. I'm laying on the back, at the same spot I lost consciousness. I suppose he beat me up and left me to my misery. I don't even try to move. I deserve that rest.


	4. Hurts like hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Conway decidedly can't get rid of Hightower. Sucks to be you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> Additional Tags: Beating, Blood
> 
> Words: 828
> 
> Big thanks to TunefulCandour for proofreading my work. You will be spared when the French arise.

It’s been two weeks since Hightower paid me a lovely visit. Didn’t listen to his advice and took up a new job. Shouldn’t really work in my condition but someone’s gotta pay the bills. Got something easy. Simply have to drop by, hack a computer, and send the data to client. Right shoulder still in pain, but I can do it. Try to use the arm as little as possible. Don’t need it to jump anyway. Breathe in. Breathe out. Now I’m on the roof. Take out the Crosslink. Computer is on second floor. Rewire the front security camera to open the front door. Way in: clear. Rewire all the hand scanners to control the lights. Rewire all the light switches to control the doors. Way to mess up with the guards if anything go wrong. Drop in front of the camera. Door opens. Jump to the ceiling to avoid being in sight. Clench my teeth. Moving up here hurts. Gotta put lot of ice on shoulder when back home. Drop behind guard. Walk up stairs. Jump up again. Ouch. Let myself hang from ceiling by one arm for a moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Alright. I can do it. Drop behind guard. Enter room. Start hacking.

Noise. Uh-oh. Guard’s already back. Jump to ceiling. Jesus _fuck_. Shoulder's gonna kill me. Watch guard come in. Not guard. Someone else. No idea who it is. Wasn’t planned. Red dot. Headshot. Silent death. What the-

“Is this a fucking joke?”

Hightower’s here. Killed that not guard. Closed the door behind him. Like a gentleman. I should have shut the fuck up. He looks up to me.

“Conway.”

I can see his frowny face. Obviously, he’s not pleased to see me.

“How many times do I have to beat you up to get you out of my sight?”

I don’t answer. I’m still clenching my teeth.

“Not enough apparently.”

I cough.

“Not my fault if we’re like the only two agents in this fucking town.”  
“Sounds like that’s one too many.”  
“Did you work on your one-liners or what?”

He keeps staring at me. What is he waiting for? That I drop from the ceiling so he can punch me all he wants?

“You can’t stay up there all night.”

Oh, yes. Nailed it. I shake my head.

“If you want me to get down you’ll have to get me yourself.”  
“Alright.”

Shit shit shit, what? He isn’t… He is. I don’t have much time to react as he jumps up and grabs me, pulling me down. We both roll on the floor. I let out a scream. My shoulder knocks on the desk and my hat flies all the way across the room. Jesus _fuck_ as if I haven’t had enough. A hand goes for my mouth and covers it. I understand he’s trying to figure out if the guards heard us. I’m not worried -if they try to open the door, they’ll turn off the light instead. So I bite him. He clenches and slaps me. Of course, I would have already gotten out of here by now if he wasn’t sitting right on me, and struggling wakes up the pain in my shoulder big time. I’m guessing it’s only going to get worse, and I wish I was wrong. He grabs my face in a firm grip, immobilizing my head, and straight punches it twice. I hear a crack in my nose. With my sane arm, I try to punch him back, but I am myself very aware of the little strength left in me. He easily catches it before my fist even touches him, then proceeds to twist the arm, his other hand smothering my cries. I keep wiggling around, hoping for a way out, somehow. He knocks this idea out of my head by repeatingly bumping my skull against the floor. My muffled whinings are mixed with blood, I can taste it in my mouth. Soon, his face disappears, blurred out by the tears coming to my eyes. I’m sobbing violently as he uses my body as a rag doll.

It takes me some time to realise he stopped punching me. I still hear the banging in my brain but I can feel he’s not here anymore. My whole face is burning. My face, my arms, my shoulders. I can’t believe I’m still alive. Thankfully nobody heard the fuss -or they simply didn’t manage to open that damn door. Slowly, I get up. Jesus _fuck_ it hurts like hell. I stagger, and let myself drop into a chair that wasn’t surprisingly knocked down. The computer screen catches my attention. I still have a contract to wrap up. Let’s get this over with. Drag myself to the computer. Hack the damn thing. Lots of blood drop onto the keyboard. Don’t care. Got the data needed. Plate glass window completly shattered. Must have gone this way.

I grab my hat and jump away, carrying my bloody self home.


	5. That’s just not how things work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That feel when a nice cup of coffee escalate in a full frontal beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> Additional Tags: Asphyxiation, Beating, Blood, Emetophobia, Scratching
> 
> Words: 1994
> 
> Big thanks to TunefulCandour for proofreading my work. Your soul will be transfered into a robot body so you can live for all of eternity.

I’ve spent the last week in what I wouldn’t dare call a bed anymore. Stained with my blood, sweat, and other fluids, I have trouble recognising the once white sheets. Not that I care, the soft mattress is comfy enough for my needs, and that’s all I’m expecting from the poor thing. Laying on it like a piece of trash, I’m considering taking a good and long shower to get rid of the filth. The area around my right shoulder is all wet from the ice that melted hours ago, my face is covered in band-aids, sticky and swelled up, still smelling of alcohol, and the bruises on my arms keep changing colors. Yes, a shower and a strong coffee will do the trick.

Getting up is… well, painful, not as much as last week, but my upper body still feels completely numb. Sat on my bed, I check the alarm clock. 10:37pm. Oh, well. It’s as good of a time as any, I tell myself, reaching the two blocks that I call a kitchen. With automatic gestures, I prepare the moka pot, not really paying attention to what I do until it’s done. In the same unconscious way, I only notice the noises I heard when he’s up close right next to me.

"If I knew you’d come, I would have made more coffee."

My still half asleep nonchalant voice is a blessing as it hides the surprise and the fear his presence here have on me.

"Isn’t it a bit late for such a beverage?"  
“It’s never too late for coffee,” I add, in an overly dramatic tone. It surprisingly takes a chuckle out of him which is… suspiciously terrifying.

In the corner of my eye, I watch his long legs walk all the length of my flat to hang his hat and coat next to my front door. I should consider putting the hanger at the window, that’s where most of the traffic is after all. Under his black coat, he’s only wearing a long sleeved dark t-shirt which looks a bit too large for him, and a pair of black pants to which his hypertrousers harness is attached. Burying his gloved hands in the pockets of said pants, he stares back at me deep in the eyes, unsettlingly immobile. He may have noticed I was checking him out. I break the glance.

"What gives such a pleasant visit? Is it something that I have done, again, or do you miss me?"  
“Simply checking if you were still alive.”  
“I feel truly honoured to deserve such attention from you.” I say as I take my usual mug from the rickety cupboard. Without hesitation, I grab a second one that I point at Hightower as a silent question. To which he nods. Then sits on my armchair. I’m about to protest but he cuts me.

"I really underestimated how stupid you are."  
“I think you meant reckless.”  
“Going on a mission with a dislocated shoulder?”  
“That’s _my_ chair.”

His eyes pierce through my soul. My heart skips a beat. He’s just there, settling more comfortable in _my_ chair passing a leg over the other one, and I know, I just _know_ , that at any moment he could rise up and make me go through a roller coaster of pain. He is a _dangerous_ man, and he is in my home. How do I always end up in that kind of situations?

"But sure, get comfortable."  
“You mean, like you?”

I open my mouth to reply something like _what the heck do you mean by that?_ but the time the words form in my mind, I follow his glance down, and realise I’ve been in my trunks the entire time. Well, of course. I was alone at home after all. Sighs. That’s just great.

"Only if you think you can compete with my hunk body."

Nicely saved. Never lose your cool, Richard. That’s rule one of being a smartass.

Once again, he chuckles. A quick laugh that feels oddly out of place. It brings a shiver down my spine. The gurgling noises of the moka pot offer me a way out. I don’t really feel comfortable turning my back to him just now, not being able to keep an eye on the professional killer in my house, but what else was I supposed to do? Walk backwards? That’s just silly. But you know what else is silly? The fact that I proposed him some coffee when I only made enough for one person. The one person being me. Of course, I’m only remembering it now that I’m trying to serve us, pouring the most ridiculous share of coffee in each mug.

Walking back to the living-room, that is to say, turning around and making five steps, I notice how he hasn't moved an inch, like a very menacing cardboard cutout, and still stares at me with these icy eyes of his. Nervously, I hand him the mug, and sit on the wooden chair by my desk next to him. It's hard to keep my composure while avoiding eye contact. Coffee! Come to my rescue! I swallow down my small share in three gulps. It's warm and bitter, just like I love it. Well, that's at least one good thing in my shitty morning. I mean evening. Fuck, my sleep cycle is so messed up.

“You sure know how to take care of your guests.”  
“I am an excellent host.”  
“Indeed," he takes slow sips from his coffee, "I am amazed by your presence and quality service.”

His sarcasm is sharp like a razor blade ready to plunge into my jugular and bleed me to death. All I can manage back is a vague smile.

“Well, I have to be ready at all times. You’re always after me, it looks like you really love beating me up."  
"Oh, but I do."

I’m terrified. So terrified that I lose my snark for a second and gasp instead.

"Please don't hurt me."

He slams his mug on my desk. Doesn’t give me the time to react, his hand already covering my mouth. The grin that was stuck on his face turns into a large smile, the corners of his lips twisted unnaturally. Pushing me against the wall, he bites his middle finger to remove the glove off his other hand. I don't like where this is going. I grab him with both my arms, trying to get him off me. I know it's useless. I know he's stronger than me. I know my body is still aching, weak from his previous beatings, but that doesn't stop me. Ain't a Conway if you give up.

His bare hand is wrapped up around my neck, pressing oh so slowly on my throat. I feel like I'm going to puke, choking on my own breath, my hands desperately clinging onto the fabric of his shirt as I feel I'm going to pass out, but he releases the pressure. I gasp for air in the short time he allows me to breathe before covering my mouth again. I want to punch the sick bastard so hard, if only my limbs weren't feeling this numb. He doesn't let me recover the little strength I have, and starts running his nails along my chest, leaving long red scratches on my skin. It burns, bringing tears to my eyes. Even with my blurred vision I can tell he's enjoying himself, licking his fingers covered in my blood. Creepy bastard.

Suddenly, a blow hits me in the guts. His fist meet with my face several times. I hear a crack in my nose. He drops me on the ground. Curled up, I hold my bleeding face.

"Look at yourself, the pathetic little man you are."  
"Oh fuck the shut off."

I cough blood.

“You’ll never learn, Conway.”

The towering shadow that he is hovers above me with a predatory smile.

"Maybe..." 

The tip of his boot nudges my broken body.

"I should..."

He kicks me in the guts.

"Teach..."

Again.

"You..."

And again.

"Better..."

And again.

I groan in pain. Crouching next to me, he grabs my face, squeezing my cheeks in is hand.

"How does it feel, _Richie_? Does it hurt?"

I try to tell him to go fuck himself. All I manage to accomplish is drooling spit and blood accompanied by gross foaming noises. Nicely done.

He shifts his hand, his gloved hand, burying two fingers into my mouth. I bite him all I can, but I can't tell if I don't hurt him or if he just doesn't mind the pain. The latter wouldn't even surprise me. Either way, he continues his sneaky snaky invasion, pushing to make me gag. My whole body is shaken with spasms. He pushes me on my back. Sits on me to immobilise me. It doesn't really work, he's too deep into me, I can't stop my limbs from moving uncontrollably, grasping at him helplessly, whining in complete submission, my eyes pleading for him to stop. An acidic taste is burning my throat. Shit, I don't want to die choking on my puke.

For my sake, he does stop there and retreats his fingers out of my mouth, lingering on my teeth along the way. Gasping, I try to calm myself down however I can. Lucky for me, he seems to be lost in the contemplation of my pretty face. But not for long.

Once again he covers my mouth with his gloved hand, holding my face in place. The other one slides down to the scratches on my chest, softly caressing them, as if he's appreciating his own work. With no other warning, he plunges his nails into one of them, deepening and spreading the wound, blood pouring out of it like sweet red chocolate sauce. Muffled sobbings. It hurts so much. It feels like he's trying to reach into my body to play with my insides. The sole thought of it is sickening. And he doesn't stop at one, he plays with more of my wounds, scratching again and again, like a mad cat that found a new toy.

Strangled whines escape my throat. I can’t even attempt to fight back. My hand loosely wrapped around his arm isn’t going to stop him. The out of control twitches of my body are all the energy I have left.

He lets go of my mouth, turning his claws into fists to beat the shit out of my already bleeding body. Don’t… don’t you already have enough? I wish… I wish I could say something. Talk back. Just to show him that I’m not as powerless as I look. To show him that his mindless violence can’t take my sass away. I wish I could do that. But I just can’t. My face distorted, gasping at the pain, tasting my own tears and blood, whimpering like a small animal. He's right. I'm a pathetic little man.

A lovely bitter smell welcomes me when I get back to my senses. I wonder how the coffee made itself, then remember what a lovely guest I have. Sure, suit yourself. I groan. Eyes half opened, mind still sleepy, I don't dare to move right after all of Hightower's work on me. Yet... I don't feel sticky with blood and sweat, which is rather nice considering the situation. A rapid inspection teaches me that my whole body is covered in bandages. What, is he worried about my well being now? I suppose it's not as _fun_ for him if I die from my injuries.

A shadow hovers around me then disappears. There’s now a mug of coffee next to me. What an odd- wait did he just serve me coffee?

Oh no, no no no no no. You can't just beat the fuck out if me and then patch me up and serve me coffee and then just _leave_. That's... that's just not how things work.

You tall motherfucker.


	6. Care for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confused feelings when the man that beats you up also takes the time to clean your wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T.
> 
> Additional Tags: Fluff
> 
> Words: 1448
> 
> Just a heads up, there's a paragraph where Conway gets anxious about Hightower possibly abusing him when he was passed out, which isn't the case, but still. You might wanna skip the paragraph that starts with "When I open my eyes, a grin has settled on his lips." if you'd rather avoid reading that.

I don’t really understand how it ended that way, but I know I can expect a visit from Hightower more or less every two weeks. That’s what he does. He regularly comes back to beat me up. There’s not much I can do. He’s stronger than me. All I have for myself is a sharp tongue, but that doesn’t stop a fist coming right for my face.

I don’t exactly know what’s up with him. It looks like he enjoys it, beating me up. I had expected him to leave me laying in my own blood. He isn’t. He’s always there to clean and bandage my wounds, to offer me coffee in some kind of comfort. He’s leaving my body time to rest. Time for my wounds to heal. Time to carry on my life.  
But he will be back.

I know, or better I suppose, _I suppose_ that he’s doing it by pragmatism. To keep me in shape. There’s no point in beating down an already broken man. Yes, that’s all that his care and attention is, right? Pragmatism. He doesn’t _actually_ care about me. Right?  
He’s just fixing up his toy.

Though it’s hard to admit… in a way, it feels rather nice. No, not the beating part, it hurts and, and it’s like having to live a nightmare over and over but— the aftercare. I haven’t been paid so much attention in a long time, if ever. Having someone by my side, taking care of me.

He can’t _actually_ care about me.  
Right?

And yet, here he is when I wake up. Patching me up. Slowly swabbing the cuts on my face with a lil smile on his. Are you enjoying me wince because of the disinfectant you sick fuck? Why are you even here? Why do you keep coming back to me? Questions I am certainly _not_ going to ask, but I do know the answers. I know he’s here to make me suffer. That’s the whole point. He found himself a good looking ragdoll, and he’s taking advantage of it.

Growling noises escape my throat when he presses along a cut on my cheek. Now that I'm awake, he doesn't allow me to be seemingly lost in thoughts. He wants me to be fully aware of his presence. I know it, it’s not the first time that happened. His gentle yet forceful gestures are many keys to grab my attention, and to redirect this attention to him, like the thumb on my jawline, slowly pushing my head up, so my eyes meet his. This icy glare. I know it all too well. Calculating and deceitful. Always bringing a shiver down my spine. I can't stand it. I break away from it, staring at his perfectly inexpressive mouth instead.

Maybe he noticed it, or maybe it's merely a coincidence that brushing over my skin, his thumb carries on his way to my lips. Soft hissing noises emerge from me, as he wipes a drop of blood away. The contact to my rough exposed skin burns. Not much, but just enough to make me close my eyes for an instant. A small chuckle from him. Sure, go on, laugh at my pain. I don't mind at all. 

When I open my eyes, a grin has settled on his lips. As he carries on his job, cleaning the bruises on my face, I make a mental note that he has already taken care of the rest of my injuries. A shiver runs through me at the thought of his hands parcouring my body, of what he could have done when I was passed out. Slowly, I feel my body tensing up. Toes curl up and knees join together as the unease settles in. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. Alright, alright. I know he's never done that before, and it sure doesn't _feel_ like anything happened. Everything's alright. I'm okay.

A pat on my head turns my attention back to him.

"There. You're as good as new," he snickers, softly running his fingers through my hair.

My heart is racing, pounding in my chest. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. That's not like him at all— he's never done that before. Of course, I am expecting it to turn all wrong. I thought I was safe now but— everything is possible with this man, even though he just finished patching me up. Oh please, oh please don't hurt me more.

He doesn't. He simply arranges my hair with a smile, then stands up and walks away.

"Wait," I plead in a strangled voice. What am I doing?

Immediately, he stops in his tracks without turning around but looks alert. I gasp. The words lose themselves in my throat. My mind can't seem to rearrange new ones for me. Out of patience, maybe, he slowly turns back to me, his expression as unreadable as usual.

"Leaving so soon?" I manage to burst out in my weakest smug voice.

Apparently, yes. With no reaction from his part, I see him disappear.

Really?

Just like that, he leaves? ... Why am I surprised? Why do I even care? I should be _relieved_ that he's gone. I'm safe now. I can rest. He won't hurt me before long. I close my eyes. My fingertips trail along a bandaid on my cheek. I recall the way he just played with my hair. The thought of it makes my heart race once again. It was such an unusual gesture. It felt... caring, affectionate... but I know that can't be true, right? 

The gurgling noises of the moka pot interrupt my day dreaming. Wait— that means he _was_ still there. Well, really, I should have known. After all, he never left without making coffee before. It's part of the routine now, and here he is, coming back with a warm mug of my favourite drink when I feel like shit. He puts it down on the nightstand then turns to me, as if expecting some kind of remark on my part. As if he knew me well enough to know what to expect from me, ha.

Well. He was right for this once, alright.

"I knew you'd miss me."

Strangely, there's no response, but I see his lips move, slowly, while staring down at me. Is he mumbling to himself? If only I could make out the words... What could be on this man's mind? Uncomfortable... He feels distant, unreachable. Suddenly it strikes me that he has already put his coat and hat back on. Yes, he's ready to leave.

"Speechless, I see," I tease, trying to snap him out of it.

Which doesn't seem to have any impact on him. I don't like that very much. Tense, I try to reach up for my mug of coffee. What I actually do is a slight shoulder movement accompanied by various grunting noises. He chuckles. Oh, of course _now_ you're reacting.

"What, are you just going to stand there and laugh at me struggle?"  
"It sure is a pleasant sight."  
"Oh shut up and help me."

I know that I'm playing with my life talking to him like that. I know it all too well. He already punched me for less than that. And now... now that he's all dressed up, I don't think the caretaker in him is still there.

I was wrong. I sure didn't expect him to simply roll his eyes, and sit by my side, wrapping one of his arms on my back to help me sit up.

And in that moment nothing else matters.

I lose myself in the instant, forgetting who he is and all he's done to me. Yes, let me forget for this sole instant that the man who fixes me up is the same that the one who breaks me down. Right now, the nightmares simply don't exist anymore. There is only two bodies, and genuine caring touches, as genuine as I decide them to be. It's my fantasy. I need this beam of sunlight to shine on the broken mess that I am.

Eyes closed, I exhale in contempt. It's too late when I see myself holding on to him, my cheek brushing on the fabric of his coat, in the most awkward hug I ever experienced. I can hear him breathing— holding his breath. And breathing again. His hand trails up across my back as he stands up— mine is still tightly grasping at his coat, was, the clothing evading my fingers. He hands me the mug, and with no more words, leaves. For good this time.

I’m left muffling my sobbings with coffee.


	7. Gotcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conway gets the jump on Hightower. Fighting ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence  
> Additional Tags: Asphyxiation, Beating, Blood
> 
> Words: 1037
> 
> Can you believe it's been a year and a half since I last updated this fic? Ahahahahahah oh dear, this went in a totally different direction than originally planned. Hope you'll still enjoy it! There's more coming. When? Dunno but hopefully not next year.

The sound of broken glass grabs his attention. As he turns around, I can see the quiet surprise on his face as I throw myself at him. The momentum makes us slide on the floor. His hat flies off. I smile.

To be quite honest, I'm immediately regretting my move. I simply was on my way for a mission when, in the corner of my eye, I see him, standing next to that window. I just went red. I couldn't let it pass. For all the times he's beaten me, I had to take the jump on him. For once, I had to show _him_ what I'm worth when I'm not taken off guard.

So here I am, straddling him, holding him down by the wrists. He growls, but doesn't struggle.

"Leave me the fuck alone," I say, as assertive as I can muster.  
"Says the man holding me down."  
"You know what I'm talking about."  
"Oh boohoo," he deadpans, "I'm Richard Conway and a nasty man keeps beating me up."

I raise my fist to punch him, but I underestimated how fast he is. His now free hand grabs my fist before it reaches him. There's a struggle as he pushes my arm away—I know he's stronger than me, there's not much point in wasting my strength by pushing back. Which doesn't mean I can't hurt him, though. So I slam my head into his pretty face.

Once again, I regret my move immediately. Everything goes white for a second, and then Hightower is grasping at my coat, blood pouring from his nose. He doesn't look happy. I can tell by his frown. Oh, and also because he's trying to strangle me. As he tips me backwards, I claw at him, and kick my legs, trying to overthrow him, but he's good, and his hands tighten around my windpipe.

I gasp.

With panic-filled desesperate movements, I slam the meat of my hand into his already injured nose.

His grip loosen, but his hands are still around my neck. I press further on his nose, pushing his head back, taking growls of pain out of him. Gathering my tiny legs, I curl up, and press my boots against his chest. The neon blue light fills the space between us before I release the charge. The hypertrousers blast both of us apart. My legs, my neck, they burn. I don't know what happened to Hightower at this point. I'm too distracted by a desk catching me in the back. And the resulting pain. And me dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

I get a knee up, cough, catching my breath. Then look straight ahead. Slumped against a wall, Hightower's holding his chest with a strained expression on his face.

"I know I can be... breath-taking."

My voice is weak, but apparently loud enough for him to hear as he looks up at me with daggers in his eyes. I can't help but smile. I'd have hated my comment to go to waste.

"I had this coming," he grumbles.  
"Glad we agree at least on one point," I snap back.

He wipes some blood off his face. Slowly, he stands up. We stare into each other.

I don't really want to attack him. Not now, not anymore. Without the effect of surprise, I'm not sure I can beat him. I hadn't thought this far into my one-step plan. Though... whever he attacks first or I do, he'll beat me. At least, I want this fight to be on my own accords.

I launch myself at him.

He seems taken aback as I slam into him, and we both bounce against the wall. I manage to punch him in the face once before he counters, and the struggle for dominance begins. It's messy, and I don't follow all of what happens. There's limbs flinging around. I get punched in the guts. I know my fists reach him as well. Probably. I hope so because my hands hurt. And there's an awful lot of blood in my blurry vision. There's blood in my mouth as well. My head is throbbing.

One especially strong punch take me down. I barely have time to see him crouching over me, grabbing my collar, a big smirk on his face, for what I assume is going to be: more punching. Without thinking, I tug him closer. I allow myself a grin. I use the same trick from the day we first met. We fly upward from the push of my hypertrousers, and hit the ceiling. Especially him.

And then we fall.

I'm too exhausted to move. Over my own heavy breathing, I can hear his. He doesn't seem to be moving either. Is that a draw, then? Can we just... walk away from it?

"I call a truce, what d'you say?" I exhale difficultly.  
He snorts. "Sure." I can hear his body shift as he sits up. "Until next time." Then grabs my hat!  
"Hey!" I screech, rolling over to get on my knees. "The truce also covers my hat!"

He smiles. Not smirks, _smiles_. The most genuine smile I've ever seen on his lips. Beat up, bloodied and bruised, he beams.

"Give it back."  
"Get it yourself."

I dive for it but he's faster. He dodged and is already standing up. I don't waste any more of my time and throw myself at him. We stumble and slide on the floor. Our heads knock together, and when my vision returns, all I can see are his bright blue eyes. Our noses are touching, sticky with blood. I can sense his breathing on my lips.

"I win," the words escape my throat in a breath.  
"Alright, then," he replies, putting the hat back on my head, effectively pushing me away.

My face is on fire. I hurry back on my feet. He takes his time to do so. We stare at each other for a long moment, and I'm burning inside. Without a word, I break away and run off. I don't hear him following me, thank god.

Just before jumping out into the night, I cast a last look back inside, and I see him. Silent, still staring at me.


	8. A deer in headlights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Conway tries to calm his thirst and fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M.
> 
> Tags: Blood
> 
> Words: 1972
> 
> I've been working on this for 6 months lmao.

Red spreads across my cheeks as I think about Hightower. His stupid perfect face. The sudden rare warmth in his usually cold eyes. His smile, _oh dear god_ his smile. I hide my face in my hands, embarrassed by the thoughts overtaking me. I had hope they'd go away after a good night's sleep, but they're still there, stronger than before. What am I going to do now? Well, I suppose I could ignore it and let it die down. Just get him out of my mind. Yeah, sure. As if.

I need to see him.

Jumping into the night, I realise that I have no idea how to find him. I've always ran on him by chance. Or _he_ came to visit me. The realisation that I don't know anything about him but he knows where I live and probably more slowly dawns on me. And yet, his pretty face, bright blue eyes, and gorgeous smile are stuck in my mind. This can only end well.

I land atop a familiar rooftop, not far from home. In fact, I can see my building from here. I should see him on his way to my place. If he comes. It's probably —absolutely— inappropriate that I hope he does.

Sitting on the edge, my mind wanders, thinking of better times, when I wasn't caught up in a whirlwind of confusing emotions. How many months has it been since we met? When he pounced at me and we fell seven story high into each other's arms. I never thought I'd get out of this alive. I never thought I'd even see him again. I never thought I'd...

Legs kicking in the air, my eyes turn to the street below. In moments like this, I'm reminded of my fear of heights. Usually I jump away fast enough to simply... not think about it. But staring down there, immobile, I can taste the rush of fright tingling in my mouth. At any moment, I could...

Footsteps behind me. I cross my fingers for it to be him.

"Conway."

His gravelly voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I pull off the most suave voice I can, "Well, look who can't get enough of me~?"  
"I saw you moping."  
"I wasn't moping!" I reply defensively. I was moping.  
"... sure."

He stands there, behind me, unmoving, a lifeless gargoyle. The air is heavy, as is the silence around us.

"So," I break through, "which one is it gonna be? Friendly Hightower or the regular asshole one?"  
"I'm only one person, you know."  
"Hard to tell."

He sits besides me. Without a thought, I get up. I wonder if he's disappointed.

He lets me walk a few steps away before asking, "Are you afraid of me, Conway?"  
"I'm afraid of heights." I don't look back at him.  
"That's... not the answer to my question."  
I sigh, "Do you honestly need it?"  
"I'd like to hear it from you."  
"Well you won't."

I can sense his shadow in my back. In a breath, I turn around and find myself face-to-face with him. His eyes lock on mines. I inhale and keep his stare.

"Still, you boast."  
"What can I say? I have no self-preservation instincts."  
"Is that what you call it?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about."

He steps into my personal space. I hope I don't redden too visibly.

"You play a dangerous game."  
I smirk, "You're such a cliché."

So. Here he is now. In front of me. Just like I wanted. Close, _dangerously_ close. Oh, I'm going to regret this later, right? I have no doubts about it. Just one more bad decision in the long series that led me to this day.

In fake-confidence, I grab the lapels of his coat. I'm screaming inside, expecting him to throw a punch at me. He doesn't react. That's probably not as reassuring as it sounds.

"Good quality, eh?" I rub the fabric under my thumb. "Mister's got some sweet cash. Don't you have anything better to do with your life than bother an honest citizen trying to make a living? Like, going home to your fifteen jacuzzis?"  
"Honest?" he snorts.  
"Well. At the very least, I didn't kill anyone _intentionally_. Not pointing any fingers here."

He doesn't reply, just stares at me with his icy eyes. They're piercing right through my heart, reading me like a book. I redden ever more, thinking at what is written into me. I don't know if I want him to see it or not. I break eye contact, staring at his mouth instead. There is the shadow of a smile, not his usual perfectly inexpressive murder doll face.

"I never did ask you which brand of hypertrousers you wear."  
"Klipspringer."  
"That's what I thought." I nod to myself. "The red suits you well." My face is burning. I want to scream. My brain tells me to run away. I ignore it. When have I ever listened to reason? "You know what else would suit you well?"

I pull on his coat. He's taller than me, and lets himself be guided so I can reach his lips with mine. I knew I was a garbage man, but I didn't think I was fucked to the point I'd fall for this trashbag. All he's ever done since we know each other is beat me up. We barely talked, exchanged only a few snarky lines. He broke several of my bones, and my nose more than once. He clearly enjoys inflicting pain on me. Yet here I am, kissing him. Good grief Conway, you're messed up.

He cups my cheeks in his hands, deepens the kiss. I press my face forward. I never want this to end. I let go of his coat, instead wiggling my arms inside, wrapping them across his back. I pull him closer to me. Close and tight. I want to feel his body against mine. Forget who he is. What he's done. At least for now. I'll deal with the hangover in due time.

His lips escape me as I catch a breath.

"This doesn't mean anything, I still hate you."  
"Then, hate me more."  
" _Christ_ , do you hear yourself talk? You sound like a bad teen novel vampire."  
"Which one of us whipped out a cheesy line before kissing the other?"  
"... shut up and kiss me more."

So he does.

His hands on the small of my back, pull me closer to him. They run all over my body. Shivering in his arms, I grasp at his shirt, desperatly. All the sirens in my head are blasting full volume but, well, I've never been good at paying attention to warnings. If I want to kiss mister killer-man, I'll fucking do it, and not even my conscience is going to shame me out of it. Will I regret it? I've already established that yes, absolutely. Then let's just enjoy the moment.

My heart skips a beat. His hand is on my neck. I break away, stare up at him. His forehead rests on mine, breathing heavily, a grimace on his face.

"Hey..." I call to him, a tremble in my voice.  
"I..."

His hand is shaking. It curls into a fist, rubs its knuckles on my cheek. I put my hand on his, gently pushing it out of my face, but not before leaving a kiss on his knuckles. He slowly opens his fist, and I take his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. Softly, I catch his lips once more. His teeth sink into my flesh.

"Shit!" I hiss, pulling myself away. He lets go.

Blood in my mouth.

"I—"  
"The heck, man."  
"I have to go."  
"Wait!" I call after him as he jumps away.

I can't let him leave on that! What kind of... what is even happening? I launch myself after him.

Building after building, I'm tailing him. He tries to lose me, sliding down shallow streets, jumping back into roofs, I never let him slip away. Even when I lose sight of him, the red lights of his hypertrousers are a beacon, calling to me.

He moves like a cat, swift and graceful. I'm just a lump with legs, keeping up as much as I can. I don't know if he's aiming for somewhere or if he's just trying to put distance between us, either way he doesn't slow down.

We keep at this for god knows how long. He even jumps on the railway to get on the other side. I follow him —of course— with my heart pumping hard in my chest —even the fear of getting run over by the subway ain't gonna stop me.

At the edge of a roof, suddenly, he stops, looks back at me. I wonder if he's surprised I'm still there. I don't wonder for long, though. I tackle him into the building behind. Through a window. We crash into some dude's living-room.

"You're not getting away that easily."  
"WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?"  
"You shouldn't go after me like that."  
"WHAT IS HAPPENING??"  
"Conway does as he damn pleases."  
"CAN YOU PLEASE LEAVE???"  
I finally pay attention to the poor sap we disturbed, "CONWAY DOES AS HE DAMN PLEASES, I SAID."

He fixes me, wide-eyed. I must look terrifying, with blood down my chin. I haven't taken the time to clean that up yet.

We both get up. The guy takes a step back.

"Apologies for the trouble."

Hightower plunges a hand in his coat and whips out some bills that he throws in the man's general direction. He pushes me towards the broken window, and picks me up, flying the both of us out. I hide my face in his neck, breathing him in, victorious. When he holds me like this, I could almost forget... almost.

I don't know where he's taking me, until I see Rooke's building. He's bringing me home.

He lands in through my still broken window, and puts me down in the middle of my apartment. Without a word, he makes his way out.

"Don't leave." I grab his hand to stop him.  
"I thought you hated me," he snickers.  
"Only when you beat me up."  
"Which is... about 80% of our relationship."  
"So we _have_ a relationship." I give him a raunchy smile.  
He squints. "That consists in me using you as a punchbag, yeah."  
"And patching me up."  
"I don't want you to die."  
"And kissing."  
"That's— are we really having this conversation?" his voice cracks up a bit.

I pull him by the hips towards me.

"I've got you talking, no backsies now."  
"That's not a good idea."  
"What, talking?"  
"No, this... relationship you're suggesting. Have you forgotten what I've done to you?"  
"Of course not..." How could I even? But there's... there's more to you than that, I can feel it, and I... _I don't want to be alone._ "I guess I got used to you."  
"That's not a good basis for any relationship."  
"We won't know unless we try."  
"Conway. I enjoy beating the living hell out of you."  
"Yet we're having a collected conversation here."  
"Do you really want to base all of your hopes on just this?"  
"What are you afraid of?"  
"Why aren't _you_ afraid?" his voice heats up.

I stare him in silence. Of course I'm afraid, but what other choice to I have? Cower in fear? Or try to take control of... whatever's happening here? At least, do _something_.

I still haven't replied.

"This..." he waves at me, walking backwards to my window, "isn't supposed to happen."

And then, he jumps away.

"At least call me back!" I vaguely snark at him, but he's already gone. That wasn't even a good line anyway.

I dig my hands in my pockets and kick the air.

Why am I so disappointed?


	9. Fighting back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some flirting and wrestling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M.
> 
> Tags: alcohol, bloody noses, fighting, asphyxiation, more alcohol.
> 
> Words: 2114
> 
> I rewrote this chapter like 8 times. I'm a mess.

I haven't heard from him since we... kissed. I know I should be relieved, but I'm not, because I'm a jackass who decided to lust over the professional killer who abused me for months. It... it sounds really bad when I put it this way, doesn't it?

I can't stop thinking about...

Work has been slow... I've refused all two of the jobs I received. I don't have the right mind to do it. I don't want to risk getting gunned down because I'm distracted. It's not worth it. I still have some bucks leftovers so I won't starve. It's not like I'm eating much anyway.

Without him I'm...

I grab my phone, go through old logs, stare at my contact list. My finger hover an old friend's name. I haven't talked to any of them in so long, I wouldn't even know what to say. _Hi, it's Rick, remember me, from the press? What's new? Oh, me? The usual, got myself into a fucked up relationship with a hitman, boy do I tell ya!_

I throw my phone across the room. _Why am I like this?_ Burrowing myself in self-pity. Just a pathetic little man. I like it, don't I? No standards. No expectations. Just a desesperate need for attention. Something to...

The soft vrrrr of my phone snaps me back to reality. Oh phew, at least it's not broken. I drag my sorry body to pick it up, and delete the job offer. Thanks, but not now, not today, not while I'm distracted by this... gigantic ASSHOLE whom I've KISSED and want to see again SO BAD.

Hell, I need a drink.

I throw my coat on and thirty minutes later I push the doors of East Point's nicest club. Haven't gone back there since... since Hightower tracked me there and ruined my fun.

I slide at the bar, call for the barman. It's time to get hammered! I order their strongest whiskey... or... or what about I just take a drink that makes me feel good instead? No need to ham up the hardboiled persona, I feel too shitty for this noir nonsense. I order a piña colada.

The rum is passable and I can barely taste the coco, but the pineapple slice and tiny umbrella are already lifting my mood up.

Following the melody of a bossa nova, I waltz into their lounge, drink in hand. I wedge myself in a sofa and close my eyes, to enjoy the swinging notes.

It's been a while.

It's been a while since I took some actual legit me time. I'm so caught up in my own shit that I don't know what it's like to enjoy life anymore. So right now it's just me, this glass, and the music. And my low self-esteem reminding me of what a fuck up I am. Oh, what's this? The lowest point in my life yet? Just you wait, I'm sure you can do way worse.

I groan and shake the thoughts away. Ok I get it, can't even relax. Hightower's so in my mind at all time that I can even hear his voice in my head.

Wait no.

At the end of the piece, I focus on the many voices around, and my heart jumps in my chest. Oh yes I'd recognise that gravelly voice anywhere. _He's here._

I look around anxiously until I spot him, a couple tables away, speaking with an older woman I've never seen. She's pretty stylish in that blue pinstripe suit, while he, not wearing his usual outfit, is a total fashion disaster. _This_ skirt with _that_ turtleneck? Who dressed you up?

"You didn't call me back", I butt in, sliding to their table, with a wide smirk.

His face goes through the five stages of grief in a split second. A memory I'll cherish for decades to come.

"Who even are you?" he lies through his teeth.  
"Not nice," I point at the lady, "Who's your lovely friend?"  
"Ugh, drunks," she comments with disdain.  
"I'm not even drunk yet!" I think that's the first time I uttered these words truthfully.

Neither of them reply, she simply silently nods towards me.

The table slams into my face. _Crack_. The floor hits me in the back. The glass escapes my fingers, I hear a crash. Hands on my collar that I know all too well send back bad memories and my legs are weak when he lifts me up. His voice, a whisper "We'll talk later." then a louder, more authoritative "Stay back, punk!" as he throws me away. I stumble into the table behind me, excuse myself, and run away from the lounge. _We'll talk later_ , eh? Well, no need to challenge him now, then.

Head buzzing, I pat myself to regain some composure on my way back to the counter. I order a new drink, and keep him and his mysterious friend in my peripheral vision. I wonder if he does this often, meeting clients here. Has he done that before we knew each other?

"You're bleeding."  
"Uh?" I look up. It's the barman.  
"Don't bleed on my counter," he hands me a paper towel.  
"Thanks," I hadn't notice but he's right. I shove it on my nose.

I look back at Hightower. What are the odds of finding him here? Going out in the exact same club on the exact same night? Maybe... maybe he's just been hanging out here the whole time and I just didn't know. How many times we may have passed one another, unknowingly? I wonder if we could have met here before the Intex case. In different circumstances, maybe...  
I shake my head. Ridiculous.

"You're still there."  
"Wh—?" I jump as he speaks... Seems I was so lost in thoughts I blacked out for a bit. "Hey, you're the one who said we'll talk later."  
"You could have ran away."  
"Yeah? Well, I'm not gonna let _you_ ruin my evening. Not this time."  
"Oh," a soft surprise, "sorry about your nose."

I give it a rub.

"That's only the third time you broke it," I roll my eyes.  
"... third time's the charm?"  
"Oh yes, you're _lovely_."

He stands awkwardly, a hand on the back of his neck.

"For real though, I was too heavy handed back there."  
"What, you expect me to thank you for your intent even though you broke my nose?"  
"... no, I just wanted you to know."

I side-glance him silently.

"So, uh..." he sits next to me at the bar, "about last time..."  
"Look..." I interrupt with gravitas, "before we get into it, there's something very important I've got to ask."  
"I'm listening," a serious frown on his brow.  
"What the heck is this?" I point at the abomination on his head.

He lets out an exasperated sigh that lasts a lifetime before replying.

"That's a beanie."  
"What happened to your hat?"  
"I have more than one...?"  
"Well CLEARLY we can't all have the expenses of a billionaire, no matter how terrible his fashion sense is."  
"Ah sorry, do you want me to buy you a _backup hat_ with my tremendous fortune?"  
"Oh," I splay a hand on my chest, "A gift! How romantic!"

He looks away with a sigh, a hand on his cheek. He's... I think he's blushing.

He sighs, "Do you really have to do that?"  
"Do what?" I smirk.  
"You know what I mean."  
"Actually, I don't at all," I play fool.

I lean in, elbows on the counter. I catch his eyes, his beautiful ice blue eyes.

"If there's something you want to say, you should just say it."  
"I shouldn't have kissed you."  
"Um? _I_ kissed you, but..whatever."  
"This little... flirtatious game you're playing is going to have to stop."  
"Only if your "beating the shit outta me" game stops as well."  
A chuckle. Cold. "That's not going to happen."

Of course. That was too optimistic of me, eh?

"Right. Then, let me be clear: I won't let you hurt me and get away with it anymore."  
"You think you can stop me?"  
I smirk, "I know I will."

In a swift move, his hand is on my throat. Reflexively, I put mine over his.

"Care to test your theory?"  
"Come now, sweetheart, you wouldn't want to make a mess in front of everybody," my voice is shaking.  
"Alright," a wicked joy in his voice, "let's take this outside."

He shifts his hand to grab my collar and forcefully drags me out of the club. As soon as we're out, I throw myself at him, jamming my elbow in his guts. He lets out a "huff" as I slip out of his grip, then back off several steps away, keeping him at a distance.

I make note that under his long skirt are a pair of studded boots, not his hypertrousers. If things get too tough, I can jump my way out of here easily. But right now I just want to beat his ass.

I run to him and catch him in the guts— I don't think he expected me to hyper jump at him so soon. Tumble and a roll, I rain punches on his pretty face. His knee in my guts, a punch, and he takes the lead. I don't let him have it for long; I bite his hand and shove mine in his face. Growls, groans, it resonates through my skin into my bones.

It's a messy dance of grabs and punches that only lasts a few minutes but oh does it feel longer, my whole world revolving around him and my burning desire to smack him good. His smirk growing wide and wider each time he overpowers me.

Out of breath, he lays on top of me, holding me down by the wrists. I can't help but notice the hint of his leg through the slit of his skirt. His face inches away from mine, I can feel his ragged breath on my lips... god I want to kiss him so bad.

"I win. Again."  
"Heh. You forget that time I beat you."  
Chuckle. "Oh, and when was that?"  
I smile, _right now_.

I headbutt him, freeing myself from his grip, leaving me time to think my next move— at least that was my plan. What actually happens is that he pulls his head back, dodging at the last second, with a sickenly smug grin to boot.

"Predictable."  
"Oh fuck off."

His face so close yet unreachable, his stare eating me alive, slightly parted lips, I'm longing for his touch. He must have noticed.

"My my, aren't you thirsty?"  
"Shut up!"

I'm blushing furiously and curse myself and curse him and when his fingers yet again curl around my neck, forcefully pulling me towards him, I grasp, I struggle, but who am I kidding? With a kiss the world around me explodes and I rejoice in this delightful dizziness. Why does it feel so good? I hate you.

My head hits the ground and I breathe again. I can't see but feel a hand caress my cheek and I nuzzle into until it disappears. As his heavy footsteps fade into the night, the neon city lights reappear into my field of vision. My body is so weak, I think I could shatter.

Once again he just left without a word and I'm not sure why it upsets me so much. I don't entirely understand what happened, and my head hurts _so much_.

I pick myself off the ground, dry my tears on the sleeve of my coat, and get on my way... wait when did I even start crying? Shit, this is messed up. I have to stop orbiting him like a moth attracted to a burning light. I need to get him out of my life. Maybe I could start by not going back home. This way _he_ wouldn't be able to find me.

It's so late at night that I wouldn't be able to get a hotel room. Well, it's not like the law ever stopped me before. After all I've been through tonight, I think I deserve a treat, so I pick a 2-stars hotel in a high profile district to break into. For a luxury establishement, the old building has badly protected electronics that are a piece of cake to rewire and allow me discreet access. Once inside, I swiftly make my way to the front desk, hack into the terminal, add myself as a client under a fake name, and grab the associated magnetic keycard. This should do the trick.

A couple hours later I've emptied all the alcohol in the mini-fridge and passed out on the gigantic bed.


End file.
